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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351878">a fish hook, an open eye</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitfortheclick/pseuds/waitfortheclick'>waitfortheclick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>your need grows teeth [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>CSI: Crime Scene Investigation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dirty Talk, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Fisting, Glove Kink, Hair-pulling, Jealousy, M/M, Medical Kink, PWP, Rough Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Working Out Frustration, a little bit, in like a joking way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:33:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitfortheclick/pseuds/waitfortheclick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And if you want a doctor<br/>I'll examine every inch of you<br/>- I'm Your Man, Leonard Cohen</p><p>Season 9 episode 5 was a rough case; Nick and Greg have sex about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>your need grows teeth [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a fish hook, an open eye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nick’s on him as soon as the door closes, shoving up close against his back and breathing hot down his neck. The keys land loud against the table and Greg’s pushing automatically into a rough hand as Nick palms him through his jeans. He gets hard so fast he feels dizzy, stumbles, but Nick catches him before he falls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet you think that was real fuckin' cute, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help the smile that spreads wide across his face. He bites his lip. “What? I mean, besides the fact that I’m always cute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick bites his neck hard and Greg gasps. “You know exactly what: all that damn flirting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh that? That was banter! Friendly banter! Getting to know the new girl, you know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick laughs warm against his skin. “Yeah you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure, why not? Maybe she'd be up for a threesome." He knows that really gets on Nick's nerves - talking about coworkers like that - but not enough to really upset him, and it makes Greg laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick hums thoughtfully, then: “Go limp?” Greg goes limp, sagging into the harness grip of Nick’s arms around his waist and over his chest. “OK, knees, now.” He lowers himself to the floor, Nick shadowing him, solid against his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, you don’t think she’s attractive? And kinky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re disgusting --” Nick shoves at his shoulder and he stunt falls forward, catching himself on outstretched hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he says to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-- what would she think of you now? Huh? What do you think?" Nick's breathing heavy, raising goosebumps across his skin, grip tight on his cock through his jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I bet she’d have some fun… thorough ideas.” He coughs a little and squirms, shamelessly trying to rub off against Nick's hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thorough?” Nick gets his other hand up under Greg's shirt and twists a nipple hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh, ouch, fuck!" Greg gasps, catching his breath, trying to remember what he was talking about. "Yeah, yeah, processing-vibrators thorough,” he sighs dreamily, theatrically. “I wouldn’t mind her processing me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re really fuckin' pushing it, man.” Nick yanks open the fly of Greg’s jeans and roughly shoves them and his underwear down around his thighs. His dick hits his stomach and bounces a little, and Greg laughs and thanks God for his smart mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Nick's hand is rough around him, and he can't laugh, not anymore. Nick's other hand running through his hair, gripping, pulling his head back to bite the top of his ear. Greg gasps out a tiny "Ah!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand on his dick starts moving, jerking him fast. He's hemmed in, trapped, Nick kneeling behind him, covering him with his body, heavy and hot, an arm coming back to wrap tight around his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Nick begins conversationally, tone at odds with his hand working him over ruthlessly. “I don’t think you could make it through one night of work without thinkin' about sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, occupational hazard,” Greg manages to choke out. “Have you ever noticed we work with some extremely attractive people? Present company excluded, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick chuckles against his skin. “Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself, Greg. You’re all right in the right light.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh ha ha. Oh, fuck!" Nick snakes his hand back up under his shirt to continue mauling his chest, scratching and pinching and pulling. "You're so mean to me, baby." He says lovingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, man, you started it. Anyway, maybe I’m not doing my job well enough if you still can’t stop thinking about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, about what? Your ugly face?” He's only half joking about not following the plot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sex, you idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, oh fuck, you’re doing a pretty good job right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but the thing is, I kinda figured I always did a pretty good job --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg lifts one hand to make a so-so gesture, other arm shaking to hold himself up amidst an onslaught of sensation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"-- but you're still a fucking embarrassment." Nick bites his shoulder hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So anyway!" Nick continues loudly, cheerful. "I’m thinking I’m gonna have to up the ante.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, a gambling joke, really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep right on fuckin’ talking --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will, thanks.” Even though he's barely holding himself together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-- but I think I’ve been going too easy on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s not really sure if this counts as going easy: knees aching against the hard floor, covered and controlled, chest and stomach stinging, dick in an unforgiving grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick twists his grip and Greg comes hard, unexpectedly, across the tile, spilling over Nick's fingers and whimpering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick shoves off of him and stalks away, out of his line of sight. He kneels, trying to catch his breath. The next time he opens his eyes, Nick’s legs are in front of him. He throws a rag on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here. Clean up your mess." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg laughs helplessly, disbelieving. "Thanks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come to bed when you're done."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nick's snapping on a pair of plastic gloves when Greg comes into the bedroom, and his knees go weak at the sight. Nick had been serious about not taking it easy on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick catches him staring and asks, grinning in a way that lights up his eyes like sparklers: "You up for it?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins back and nods. Yes, God, he's up for it. Up for about anything Nick has to offer him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick jerks his chin forward. "Go on then, you know what to do." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg undresses as fast as he can and settles on his stomach on the bed, turns his face to the side on the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed dips and a hand smacks hard and loud against his ass. "Come on, spread 'em."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face and chest flush hot with pleasure and a soupcon of shame and he heaves in a huge breath before spreading his legs; Nick settles between them, a sort of insurance -- not that he needs it. Not that Greg doesn't want to be exactly here with his legs spread, anticipation swimming through his veins. Not that he doesn’t know exactly what’s coming and want it more than anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(And most importantly: Greg knows he'd stop as soon as he asked. Nick has always taken him seriously, even when he thinks he’s being weird. Sometimes especially when he’s being weird.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg is more than eager to let Nick get him to that wonderful place where he can't think about his scars or his stupid past pain or horrible cases or dead friends, where he can't think about anything but heat and pleasure and pushing himself to the limit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands, unnaturally latex-smooth, but warm, travel up his thighs. Nick's thumbs rub deep circles into his skin, stop just below his asscheeks and spread him open. Greg presses his face into the pillow. He isn't necessarily shy, but the gloves… they do something to him, something very good, and it's a lot to handle. The hands pull away, then return cooler, slicker. Wet. Thumbs back and rubbing, insistent, pressing inside just slightly, then more, and Greg grips the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Relax, man." But he isn't tense, not like that, only -- a little strung out from wanting. Which he supposes doesn't help much, so he breathes deeply and tries to relax. He figures he's succeeded when Nick smoothly pushes a finger inside in one go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," he grunts, or really, squeaks into the pillow. He turns his head so he can breathe easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just warming up, baby." Nick says conversationally, working his finger, spreading lube around. Greg feels something wet land on the small of his back, realizing it must be more lube as Nick slides himself free to slick up some more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Nick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This what you want?” He feels him push back in with two fingers that scissor open, spread wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Nick! Oh, fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me something," Nick starts, as if continuing a conversation Greg forgot they were having. "How am I supposed to get anything done at work when you’re flirting like a desperate slut?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nngh, I don’t know, try to apply yourself a little harder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick laughs and thrusts his fingers harder. “Yeah, keep laughing. How’m I supposed to focus on my job when you’re sending out ‘fuck me’ vibes to anyone who’ll pick ‘em up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry -- please don’t stop.” Nick doesn't stop, adds a third finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How'd she know you like hair pulling? And she doesn’t even know what your hair looked like before. You cut it to try and look more serious and less like a silly little slut but she can still tell, huh?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingers curl into the short hair at the back of his head and manage a decent grip. Nick tugs and lifts Greg's face off the bed, shaking his head back and forth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg gasps and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s so hard, feeling like everyone’s raising their eyebrows at him. What are they thinking? Him, really? The new kid? Even if he's more than proven himself. Even though he tries so hard, so much more serious and it's really only half an act with how that job grinds you down. Even if it’s been a couple years since anyone’s actually said something about his credentials. He knows they still think of him as some unprofessional, geeky kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It's worse that he's dating a colleague -- wondering when those doubtful, judging looks will turn back his way. If anyone dusted him for prints they'd find Nick's, inside and out. Cut him open to find where Nick's rooted deep into his heart, pumping desire through his veins. Find trace of them under each other's skin, evidence just waiting to be discovered.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Up," Nick says softly, pulling at Greg's hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's having trouble keeping track, but he thinks that's four fingers now, four fingers sweetly demanding access. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, lets Nick in. Four fingers but he knows that thumb must be tucked up into his palm, hiding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks for a moment that he can't take it, but Nick has shown him before that he can, he will. He wants to -- wants to feel the pressure and stretch and yes, God, please and thank you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's overwhelmed, like the desert in a hard rain: desperate, drowning. No matter how many times they've fucked it still hasn't gotten old. He's distantly aware, as if in a dream, that he's talking, and he tries to focus on the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nicky, baby, please give it to me, give it to me --" words running together, voice catching ragged. He's hard again and sweating and dizzy and doesn't want it to end but he feels like he's racing toward an unavoidable collision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears Nick murmur something that sounds like "Anything you want" and then his whole hand is sliding home. He turns his face into the pillow, then to the side again when he realizes he needs to breathe. At the same time, Nick lets out a slow, controlled breath that tickles along his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, tremors running through his body, then says "'M good" when he figures Nick needs the verbal confirmation. He is good, so good, good like ass up, stretched and full and aching kind of good. The only thing better would be -- "Fucking me. Fucking me would be better."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick laughs at him but he can't really care because he's doing as he asked: thrusting in tight, controlled little bursts. Greg can picture his powerful arm and shoulder working, holding back just enough to give him what he needs without really hurting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's once again dimly aware of himself vocalizing, cut off sentences and non words, helpless little grunts as he grips the pillow and tries to hold on. Then Nick's hand slips under him, trailing along his belly to stroke his cock, and he forgets all about holding on. He’s riding high on a zipline of pleasure, flying fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna come. Can I come, baby? I wanna come." Involuntary, nonsensical, because it's not as if he really has to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick's fist never faltering, not once, as he takes in the babbling and slurred words and works his dick faster and more until he comes hard. He feels like he’s squeezing the hell out of Nick’s wrist, uncontrollable, clenching and burning up and coming all over himself and the bed, making another mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What feels like ages and no time at all after: “Ugh.” He realizes he’s drooling onto the pillow and tries to wipe his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re OK,” Nick soothes. “Just hold on a bit longer.” Then he’s extricating himself, so slow, as gentle as he can be, twisting his fist and Greg shudders at a wave of too much and yes but also no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gloves snap off and land in the trash basket. The bed jostles as Nick climbs over him, then down to the carpet. He comes back a moment later with a box of tissues to clean up the spilled lube. He pushes at Greg’s hip until he turns onto his side, trying to clean up the mess of cum. He gives up a moment later, and Greg figures they'll change the sheets as soon as he can move again. Nick flops down on the mattress still-dressed and breathing hard and Greg squirms, shifting out of the wet spot and laying back down on his front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, thanks,” he laughs, breathless; wrung-out and well-fucked and love-drunk. “I needed that.” He really did; last night was rough. Frustrating, disturbing. Cases like that are hard, it’s difficult not to feel like they’re not really making a difference, like the big bad wolf is knocking down the door and getting away with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Me too.” Nick’s still breathing heavy, smiling up at the ceiling. It makes him smile, too, knowing Nick needs this as much as he does. At least, he hopes so; hopes he can at least do this much to help someone. Maybe for Nick it’s a little like being a dumb teenager and smashing mailboxes; maybe they both just need a little concentrated mayhem. Whatever it is, he's grateful that they can give each other what they need. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts a heavy hand on Nick's chest and curls his fingers into his shirt. His fingers worm between the buttons and press against warm skin, searching out the rapid beat of Nick's heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is lazy, sleepy, slurred as he whispers, "I like being your own personal stress ball." He likes that Nick is there to knock the chip off his shoulder. Nick covers his hand with his own and his chest shakes with laughter as Greg dozes, floating on the remains of sweet sensation.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I never thought I'd write a CSI fic or a fisting fic, and I couldn't get a beta, so... you know.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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